


finding your angle

by Anonymous



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Self-Insert, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: You can't take your eyes off Francis, this wonderful, kind, patient man, who can make you feel things no one else has ever been able to; this man with his soulful eyes glued on yours, red tinge glowing on his cheeks, his teeth biting into his lip to keep quiet.





	finding your angle

**Author's Note:**

> yeeeeah, this is completely gratuitous self-insert, reader(f)/francis, even tho this is supposed to be from sophia's pov but let's all be real here - we both know why you're here, reading this thing. and it ain't because of sophia.
> 
> this is for the craycray gang at valoris discord #team-francis: look what you made me do
> 
> the terror fandom: im truly sorry, may the spirit of james fitzjames forgive me

You start by teasing him a little, squeezing your legs tighter against him and you feel him lifting his hips, delicious, hard burn against your underwear. It's been too long since you're last had him like this, under you, letting you take what you need. 

A quick, delightfully dirty smile, and your struggle to remove your damp clothing done, you kneel back onto his thighs and start opening his trousers.

He is willing himself to be still under your hands but you can feel his legs trembling, fighting to need to take control. His hands are clenched around the sides of the desk, holding on, straining.

You let your hands run up and down his groin, his hard cock, and can't wait to have it, him, inside you. Your stomach is somersaulting and spine tingling with want and you finally get his cock free, fingers curling around that heat, hard under smooth skin and you love his cock, have always loved it; the shape and feel of it, the look of it, the way it fills you just right. You and that cock belong together.

Francis makes a noise, a quiet moan, as you pump him once, twice, and you crawl higher. Finding your angle, you hold his cock still and lower yourself slowly.

You can't take your eyes off Francis, this wonderful, kind, patient man, who can make you feel things no one else has ever been able to; this man with his soulful eyes glued on yours, red tinge glowing on his cheeks, his teeth biting into his lip to keep quiet. His cock fills you perfectly - like it always does - and you roll your hips when you're seated on him.

"You can touch, if you like," you say, because it looks like his hold on the table is bordering on painful.

Francis' head tips back as you roll your hips harder and the underside of his jaw invites you to lean forward and lavish it with your tongue.

"Not sure I can," his whisper turning into a quiet moan and you suck the skin of his bared throat, his cock rubbing your insides, the friction making you mad.

"You can," you say, and nibble on the tender skin under his ear. Your hands are flat on the table, hips rotating in larger circles, never once lifting yourself from him, the clothe of his trousers feeling damp where you are joined, and you love this. You love this power you have over him, rendering him defenseless, not only taking what you need but giving him what he needs as well. Mutual exchange.

You feel his heart racing, blood thumping in his veins, his cock twitching inside you, and you sit back up, start to ride him wantonly.

He's watching you with slit eyes, mouth half open and you grab his hands, lifting them to slide under your skirt, to touch your thighs. His fingers are hot and sticky, and you press them harder against your skin. Taking the hint he curls his palms around your hips and holds on, lifting you just that much higher and on the way down quicker and rougher.

You bite into your own lip to keep quiet, it feels so good, so divine to have him like this. His fingers are tight on your hips, you can feel them bruise your skin and you're getting delirious with just how. Fucking. Good. He feels inside you.

Your eyes are rolling back to your head and you ride harder, his hands guiding you and the room is filled with the wet sounds of you racing to your goal.

Francis is making these small noises, unable to stay silent and then his hand moves, his heavy thumb lands on your clit, swollen and overstimulated, and he's determined to make you come first.

But he's too good, knows your body inside out, knows how to make the blood in your veins sing, how to twist your heart with every stroke of his thumb, playing you like a finely tuned instrument, like your body is his and only his, as if made for him. 

And then you're there, at the point of no return - arrived at last, and you want to fight it, want to make it last but it's impossible; the tingling down your spine spreads, your toes stiff inside your shoes and you brace yourself for it, race to reach the high and oh, oh--

Francis lifts his hips just the right way and his thumb presses one last half circle against you and you're there.

You shake on top of him, eyes wide open and unseeing, Francis holding onto you for dear life as you topple over with trembling legs. He kisses you then, wild and wet, drowning your moans, breathing hard through his nose while you try to recover.

And then it's his turn. You know it won't take much, his fingers clenching and unclenching on your hips, and you return your movements from earlier; rolling gently, urgency from your part over, and you lift your hands into his sweat damp hair, kiss his cheek again and again, sucking kisses along his jawbone, and he's trembling under you, under your tenderness.

He is beautiful, so beautiful and you love him, you never want to stop loving him, and you say against the shell of his ear, "Come on," and "come on, love", and he makes such a sweet sound, as if in agony but it's pleasure, it's surrender, and he shakes, twists his hips and his cock impossibly harder inside you he comes.

You lay on top of him for a moment longer, wish you wouldn't have to move at all, but the table is creaking under your weight. You're a mess and your knees are aching in the best ways, one arm almost fallen asleep and Francis kissing the side of your bicep tickles you into a laugh. He blows a raspberry on the skin and god, how much you love him. You kiss him smiling and when you lean back, he smiles at you widely, dimples on rosy cheeks and with a crooked eybrow.

"That certainly made this dinner party special," Francis says with a twinkle in his eyes.

You love him so much it hurts.

"Maybe now we can move on to the dinner, since the special party part is fulfilled," you reply and kiss him again. And again.

And again.


End file.
